Wraiths and Strays
by miriya v
Summary: A reconciliation in ten acts. Early winter catches Itachi off guard, and he is forced to change his plans. ItachiNaruto, to an extent.
1. Act I

Act One, set to Coil - Rosa Decidua/In Memory of Truth.

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**Wraiths and Strays, Act I**  
(I've put away the poisoned chalice, for now)

The first thing Naruto notices is the return of sound. It blossoms slowly around him, hesitant at first but growing louder. Wind whispers through a grove of bamboo, pulling eerie moans from the throats of weathered, severed stalks. To his left, a pair of _oururi_ sing softly to each other over the rasping song of cicadas -- he can gauge his uncertainty by the shudder of his breath as he takes a small step forward.

Beneath his feet he hears the crunch of coarse stones, freshly raked.

The next sense to return is smell. He smells wet earth like morning after a rain, but above it the fragrances of plum and sweet osmanthus are overwhelming, swirling through his mind, cradling his scattered thoughts in a pleasant, hazy cloud. He sways unsteadily on his feet, slightly dizzy as he takes another step. The wind whips past, adding a frantic ensemble of wind chimes to the chorus of his surroundings.

Naruto tells himself he's not afraid, but he's beginning to smell the blood and human decay rising from the earth, and he is terrified.

Touch, then sight. He feels the cold wind across his face moments before opening his eyes to a landscape drenched in lifeless moonlight, old and faded like a washed-out watercolor. The trees shiver and shake, scattering petals across an obsessively-kept garden, pale pink and yellow spinning wildly before falling to the white sand below.

To his right, a familiar fan crest adorns the inner walls, proud even as it shows obvious signs of age and disrepair.

_House Uchiha._

Naruto has never dared to walk this path, only looked on from the outside. He does not belong here.

Behind him, beyond the old compound gates, there is nothing but an inky void.

Slowly, he begins to follow the stones across the courtyard. He is sure he is dreaming -- no time, in reality, does the earth feel like the life has been sucked from it in this way. It's like stepping into a painting half finished, a whole body rendered half-alive by ancient, unshakeable power.

Footsteps echo empty through the courtyard; Naruto turns to see the ghost of a small boy run blindly across the grounds, ignorant of the careful arrangement as he scatters sand and uneven footsteps in his wake. Naruto is intimately familiar with the boy's features, the expression he remembers as so somber now screwed up into a mask of barely restrained terror.

He's ready to wake up now, but he can't, and so he passes the stately bamboo grove to reach the veranda surrounding the old house, following the disappearing trail of the child. The door is already open, and shredded rice paper flutters weakly from the panes.

There is a moment of hesitation before he slips inside. The smell of blood is thicker here, and his hand shakes as he reaches for the wall to steady himself. Fear trickles like cold water, sliding heavily down his spine.

Inside, the anemic light of a single candle gutters on a low wooden table, casting flickering shadows across worn tatami mats. The weak light doesn't quite reach the alcove, and so it takes him a moment to distinguish the form of a corpse bent against the wall, a spray of blood drying slowly across the face of an ancient-looking scroll that hangs there.

At its feet, a wilted arrangement of summer flowers lies scattered, abandoned.

In another area of the house, he can hear the boy screaming, a sound of primal agony.

He's ready to wake up now, but he can't. Naruto does not want to intrude on the private agonies this boy holds close to his heart in the places he cannot reach -- he is unwelcome in this memory, and he knows it.

Something is drawing him further in. Helplessly, sorrowfully he follows, a faltering path steeped in the blood of another's madness and misery.

He knows how this story ends.

The passageways are littered with corpses and pooling, drying blood, and Naruto thinks he'll choke on the scent with every step he takes. Kunai and broken blades are buried in beams and furniture and bodies, and some of these corpses bear the telltale wounds of vicious sword strikes.

There is carnage everywhere, and not a single living person in sight. Despite his utter revulsion, Naruto feels a twinge of something -- wonder, perhaps, over the sheer brutality on display. Some (the unarmed, he thinks, and supresses the urge to gag) show signs of precise, instant kills, throats split wide open like second, gaping mouths. This is merciless in every aspect; were his thoughts any less lucid, he would pass it off as nothing but the darkest of nightmares, if only for the sake of his sanity. Men have gone mad for less, he knows it and reaches out to gague his own breaking point.

The screams at the far end of the hallway have dampened to sobs, punctuated by the occasional keening cry. Naruto tilts his head toward the sound; his legs are frozen and he is momentarily overcome by the intense desire to flee in horror. He should not be here. He should not be here this is not his to carry _runrunrundon'tlookbacknever-_

Shakily, he crosses the final stretch, and trembling fingers grasp at the door.

(In retrospect, Naruto will think, between the two of them perhaps he is the lucky one. It is a fact that his lack of a true family bears the blame for a fair share of his developmental psychology. Fulfilling that emptiness is something he can hope and labor to achieve, yet in the end, what he will have can only be an imitation.

It begs the time-worn question: is it better for one to be born blind and never know what is missing, or to be born with sight and spend the rest of one's life in mourning for what has been lost? Generally, Naruto will choose the second option, and laugh, and say _"well, at least I once knew." _

Generally.)

Naruto will never really understand how to act like a brother, because he has never had the experience. Despite this, he knows without a shred of doubt that this is not what a brother does, forcing the mother and father who surely love him to their knees, perfect sacrifices to some pointless evil and there is a clean slice and blood slick and heavy and pooling into the thirsty grooves of the floor again and again and again. This is undoubtedly _not_ what a brother does. This is not what a son does.

The child shaking so fiercely, pale round face hovering inches from the corpses, babbling softly to the cold face of his father (the body is still fresh, the blood sliding from the corner of his mouth has not yet begun to congeal). This is his line, Naruto thinks sadly; this is his boundary and he has been gone for years and years. Naruto kneels beside this child, reaching out to lay a comforting hand on the trembling shoulder of the memory of his closest friend.

In the shadows, there is movement, the flash of dull tainted silver as the bloody blade catches a shaft of moonlight. Naruto lifts his face to the _other _(Itachi, his mind says in Sasuke's voice), calling his power to his hands, rage stirring his chakra in a fierce, angry surge of raw energy. Perhaps this is simply a dream, perhaps it is something else entirely, but he cannot stand idly by and let this go unpunished.

"No." The word is spoken sharply with a voice full of imperious authority -- despite himself, Naruto falls back on his haunches in a cringe. There is power in Itachi's words and it sucks him dry, violently tearing away the red-heat of his chakra away to nothing at all.

Enraged, Naruto leaps toward this shadowed assassin, forcing all of his energy into this sudden attack. And he is fast, but this man is faster, easily absorbing the weight thrown against him as he turns and pins his would-be attacker against the wall.

"_Why?_" He forces the words out from behind gritted teeth, angry and struggling for air against the strong arm pressing against his throat.

There is a moment of utter stillness, and then he is swallowed in the deep swirl of spinning crimson eyes.


	2. Act II

**Wraiths and Strays, Act II**  
(maybe you're better off this way)

Itachi crouches in front of the sunken fireplace and contemplates the snowmelt boiling in a kettle suspended above the flames. This is an old house, nestled against the mountainous border of Earth Country, and the tatami is worn and fraying from years of disuse. It is warm house, however, separated from the rest of the world by a distance that seems that much greater under heavy layers of snowfall.

It is also eerily similar to his childhood home, and while does not dwell much upon the connection, he cannot deny the slim amount of comfort it offers him.

His gaze tracks across the room, taking note of the withered flowers bowed over a cracked vase, the light carpet of fallen petals slowly turning to dust at its foot. They have been there since he first entered this house over a decade ago, and no matter how often he cleans the rest of the building, he leaves them to decay in peace. All things considered, perhaps it is a fitting tribute: dead flowers, once lovely, to commemorate a house in ruins.

Halfway between the flowers and the fire, Naruto is beginning to stir beneath heavy futon blankets.

Itachi activates the sharingan out of habit and studies the unconscious vessel with a mixture of idle curiosity and annoyance. He had not intended to encounter Naruto for some time, yet -- there were still two vessels left to deal with, and to catch him early would be to allow far too much opportunity for Konoha to stage a rescue. Circumstance, however, seemed to have different ideas, and he had instead encountered the boy hunting _him_.

Naruto had gotten stronger since their last meeting, but not yet strong enough. A simple mistake had given Itachi victory, but in exchange forced him to abandon his current mission until he could dispose of Naruto. Thus, Itachi had set off towards the Akatsuki headquarters for safekeeping until the ritual, and this time, nature intervened -- winter had come early this year, with unnatural violence. With dangerous weather and no other options available to him, the most pragmatic option had therefore been to bring Naruto to this once-abandoned house that he had turned into his home.

Itachi measures the space between Naruto's shallow breaths, and prepares himself for the vessel's awakening. He stirs the embers with fresh wood and wonders if Naruto will try to fight or run. Itachi believes that Naruto will fight -- it seems to be his natural response to any threat, and it has always been his response to Itachi's presence.

It may be an interesting spectacle, Itachi thinks. A week is a long time to neglect one's body, especially if one is a shinobi.

Naruto groans softly and turns his face towards the fire. He is not yet awake, but he will be within minutes -- Itachi intently watches the way his eyes flutter, searching for consciousness beneath heavy lids. Naruto's hands fist slowly against the thick cotton of the blankets, the movement jerky and uncoordinated, like old machinery creaking slowly to life. Itachi is unsurprised by this -- after all, he had subdued Naruto with one of his stronger forms of mid-level genjutsu, and then supressed him further with an incapacitating seal. It would do no lasting damage, but it guaranteed a handful of days in which the nine tails' vessel would not wake.

Suddenly Naruto tenses completely, his peaceful expression melting away into a mask of nothing. Itachi leans forward, one hand sliding across the dusty tatami towards his weapons. He doubts he will need them, but Naruto's unpredicability is legendary, and Itachi has never been fond of surprises.

"Who--" Naruto's voice cracks with disuse, and he swallows a few times in an attempt to coax his vocal cords to life. "Who's there?"

"Good evening, Naruto-kun," Itachi says softly.

Naruto's expressionless face holds for a moment, and then the mask cracks, thin lips pulling down at the corners in the beginning of a scowl. A shiver runs down his shoulders and arms and disappears beneath the futon blankets, and Itachi can sense the beginning of fear slipping through the vessel's chakra. Naruto, Itachi thinks, is not nearly as afraid of him as he used to be, and he wonders if it is just foolishness, or if Naruto has simply learned to hide his fear. Across the room, sky-blue eyes blink against the firelight, trying to shake the filmy haze of sleep.

Itachi's immaculately groomed fingers rest against the cool steel of a kunai, waiting for what will happen next.

After a few moments, Naruto sighs and turns towards Itachi, squinting at the older shinobi. "Good evening, Itachi-san." If he is afraid, he manages not to show it. He wears the expression of the condemned.

Itachi cocks his head to one side, studying the younger shinobi. He is still hesitant, waiting for the attack, but it's beginning to look like Naruto isn't interested in a fight. "How are you feeling?" He asks, out of a sense of politeness more than true concern.

Naruto's scowl deepens, and he attempts to brace himself on one arm, a maneuver he hardly manages. There is a moment of awkward silence between them: Naruto grumpy and sleep-tousled, Itachi perfectly composed, both gauging the other for a sign of danger.

It is Naruto who gives in at last, grumbling as he flops back onto the warm futon. "Seriously? I feel like shit. My head hurts, my body hurts, my eyes hurt--"

Itachi bites back the urge to smile, instead cutting off Naruto's laundry list of woes. "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes." Naruto's voice is surly, and his expression shows that he knows this. "Please."

Calmly, Itachi ladles boiling water into a chipped sake cup that bears a faded, elaborate version of the Uchiha crest, then adds a generous pinch of sweet-smelling herbs to the water. He stands and walks to Naruto like a hunted animal, moving just barely within arm's reach to offer the cup.

Naruto sits up and watches Itachi for a moment before accepting, as if he's enjoying Itachi's discomfort. He cradles the cup in both hands, warming his face over the steam, and he keeps his eyes on Itachi for the entirety of his retreat back to the fire.

They sit in silence, at a stand-off, watching each other over cups of cooling tea for the first hint of action.

After several minutes, Naruto tears his gaze away, scowling. "Well, this is stupid," he grumbles. "What now?"

Itachi just snorts, and keeps watching.


	3. Act III

Plz to be telling me I'm not the only one all _unf unf unf_ over the last few chapters? Because I am. D (Also, don't expect this sudden run of things coming out at a decent pace to last; the inspiration is flowing, yes, but tomorrow is Moving In day, and it's just the beginning of my favorite clusterfuck of all time: re-situating. Alas!) Also, a big thank you to the cats who've been leaving reviews in the inbox. :3

Also, ffnet's formatting seriously blows. WTF?

Act III, set to Tom McRae - The Boy with the Bubblegun .

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**Wraiths and Strays, Act III**  
(I cannot hit to hurt, or cause you pain) 

The first days are always the hardest. There is always time needed to adjust, whether captive or captor, to the presence of something (or someone) not entirely planned (or wanted). The first days are the contained stresses of lines constantly being drawn and crossed and drawn again, correcting as needed until some semblance of peace can be attained. Usually, it ends when a captive is broken, but Naruto is not the fragile type, and Itachi is no more strict than he feels he must be.

And so the first days are mostly Naruto learning what he can get away with, and Itachi learning what he can stand. As the snow quietly buries their empty corner of the world, Itachi and Naruto build something of a truce, hesitant and fragile as it might be. Effectively, Naruto does not try to leave the house, and Itachi does not crush the bones of Naruto's legs to dust.

Naruto understands that without a solid working knowledge of genjutsu, he will never be able to go past the line of trees beyond the house without Itachi's knowledge and consent. After a few hours of testing (and confirming) the thoroughness of Itachi's jutsu, Naruto decides to work off some steam by chopping wood. Itachi lets Naruto try to figure it out for himself for a while, but when his patience runs out he rises from his place near the fire to teach him how to split the abused cedar into proper pieces as opposed to mangling it to ruin with the worn axe.

Despite the ego shakedown, Naruto slides open the door at sundown to announce that there is no more wood left for him to beat on, and that Itachi had damn well better cook something extra good for the effort he's put in.

Itachi responds with a few packets of beef-flavored ramen, and regrets it almost immediately. After several hours, Naruto is still chattering away at him like he were an old friend. He doesn't stop until Itachi turns over in a pointed display of going to sleep.

The next day, Naruto is up early, practicing his shuriken throwing against the trunk of an old tree. Itachi spends most of his time out of Naruto's reach -- a part of him is afraid that the blond will search him out to ask advice, and that bothers him more than he is able to admit.

Itachi spends most of his days meditating near the fire. Naruto wonders what Itachi could possibly have to think about for such a long time; Naruto does his thinking in motion, recalling Sakura's smile and Sasuke's glare in every kunai and kick that strikes wood.

Sometimes when Naruto is tired, he will attempt to mirror Itachi's stillness, but in those times the thoughts just won't come. Instead, Naruto holds the image of a snow white forest in his mind, and imagines the sound of ice shattering, one cold piece at a time.

"I suppose you're going to kill me soon," Naruto says one morning, between mouthfuls of warm venison stew. His expression doesn't change as he speaks -- if anything, he simply looks curious. "After the snow melts."

Itachi's indifferent pose is betrayed only by the slight lift of his shoulders. His eyes are dark as he raises his head to look at the younger shinobi. "That's the core of it. Unless you are speaking of me, personally."

Naruto laughs harshly. "What? Too lazy to take it all the way and finish me yourself? Or maybe you just don't want to mess up your nails." His spoon thumps against the tatami floor as he turns away, a scowl darkening his face. (Itachi thinks that Naruto's hair has grown noticeably in the last few days, and is slightly irritated by the way it covers his eyes. It's one of the few things Naruto hasn't complained about during the course of their time in the old house. Itachi wonders why it's crossed his mind at all, but then again Itachi has always been slightly compulsive about his personal appearance, as well as his surroundings -- he has the feeling that Naruto has realized this as well, which would explain the amount of time he spends milling around the house when it's too cold for practice, shuffling objects seemingly at random.)

Itachi studies Naruto for several minutes, observing every nuance presented in his posture. Naruto's head hangs low between slumped shoulders, limp arms extending into clenched fists that rest at his sides. Itachi is intrigued by Naruto's attitude as usual -- a casual (if not sparing) conversation turns to musings on his death, and if anything he seems mostly upset that Itachi has not claimed killing rights.

"What makes you think you're worth the effort?" Itachi asks, his voice carefully neutral.

Naruto stiffens immediately, a low growl escaping his parted lips. Instantly, Itachi activates the sharingan, still as death as Naruto slowly turns to face him. It's somewhat amusing, Itachi thinks absently, how simple it is to strike nerves with him.

And just like that, their fragile truce is broken. Naruto lifts his head and gives Itachi a look full of hate, but beneath it Itachi can easily trace the undercurrent of pain.

Entranced as he is by this display of emotion, Itachi is ready when Naruto attacks. He is aware of the fact that any serious battle will destroy the most useful room in the house, so when Naruto comes for him he responds with a vicious kick that sends Naruto rolling across the tatami, using the pause in action to throw open the sliding doors and step out into the frosty morning air.

A part of Itachi welcomes the fight, and he wonders if this is more an outlet for Naruto's excess energy than an angry response; after all, each of the jinchuuriki he has encountered so far have been violent creatures, and Naruto, despite his compassion, is no different in that respect.

Naruto and Itachi both understand the futility of this battle. Both know, undoubtedly, which is the stronger shinobi. Itachi will not kill Naruto, even if he wants to -- Naruto's time of death has already been determined by those above him, and to destroy those carefully-laid plans now would be to seal his own death as well. Naruto will not kill Itachi, even if he has the opportunity -- Itachi is his last link to Sasuke and his own redemption, and without that link he may as well be dead.

Armed with that knowledge, they fight bitterly, the necessity of landing killing blows replaced by frustration at their helplessness. They fight like wolves without teeth or claws, trading ugly punches and kicks that hurt, but will do no lasting damage. They wheel around each other, scattering snow in their wake, and Naruto is screaming his fury into the frigid air as he empties his weapon pouch into the space where one of two shadow clones prepares a fire jutsu. Temporarily blinded by the sun's reflection off the snow, Itachi skips backwards just enough to avoid a frantic kick to the kidney -- he misjudges his step, however, and one of Naruto's clones lands a brutal punch to his temple. Naruto comes for him with glittering kunai in each fist, and Itachi sways back, feigning disorientation for just long enough to find an opening; he strikes, open-handed, and his palm catches the underside of Naruto's chin. He finds satisfaction in the tooth-shattering crack that echoes across the clearing as Naruto tumbles across the trampled snow.

It takes a moment for Naruto to rise, and Itachi takes the time to assess his own aches and bruises. Naruto has landed a few solid blows, even managing a successful swipe across his forearm with a kunai. It's a shallow wound, but it stings, and Itachi frowns in annoyance; despite his own vicious regiment of training, it has been several months since Itachi has fought so long without resorting to genjutsu, and he can feel what a mistake it has been. The side of his head is awash with pain, brilliant light blossoming behind his eyelids each time he closes his eyes.

Across from him, Naruto is forming a dangerous blue sphere in the palm of his hand. Itachi's skin prickles with the energy flooding the clearing, and he can almost see the malevolent chakra of the Nine Tails twisting around Naruto in hot red waves.

_There is only so far genius can take you_, Itachi thinks wryly. _Well_.

He feels the familiar, disorienting pull as the tomoe in his irises lengthen and begin to spin with renewed intensity. There is a split-second of dizziness, the sensation of falling backwards, and then he blinks it away.

And then Naruto charges with an angry cry, the rasengan whirling in his hand with all the fury of a compacted hurricane. Itachi snaps off a shuriken, precisely aimed, and when it is deflected by the invisible barrier of the Nine Tails' chakra, Naruto lifts his head to Itachi in a feral snarl.

Itachi does not hesitate to catch Naruto in his tsukiyomi -- Naruto halts mid-stride, eyes wide and unseeing, the rasengan sputtering out like a smothered candle in his cupped palm.

It takes Itachi a moment to realize that something has gone very wrong. As he slips from consciousness, he hears a sinister snarl, as if from a distance.


	4. Act IV

Thank you all for the reviews. :3 It is truly appreciated, as this is pretty much the farthest I've ever been able to keep with a multi-part.

Act IV, set to Kenna - Hell Bent

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**Wraiths and Strays, Act IV**  
(the pain is of no consequence)

_Absolutely _not. He heard the Nine-Tails' voice rumble through his skull, full of dark intent. _Are you so desperate to let this mongrel clan destroy you?_

Naruto wonders about that for a moment. _No_, he returns softly. _I want..._ To save them, perhaps, he thinks, but that's not quite accurate. He does not know exactly what this thread that binds him to the Uchiha clan may be, but it is not a tie so easily ignored.

The fox's laugh echoes into the night.

Naruto recognizes his surroundings, this time around. He runs his fingers reverently across the faded fan crest on the compound walls -- beneath them, the paint flakes away.

There are no birds singing tonight. The only sound is the unhurried cadence of his own breathing.

"This place is a tomb," Naruto says softly.

By the dead glow of the full moon, Naruto begins once more to climb the path to the house, each step thrumming with power. Behind him, ghosts stir to life, hovering in the bloody shadows.

And now, the boy is scrambling across the sand, all flesh and fear. This time, Naruto reaches out, catching him by the shoulder. The boy spins sharply, and stares into endless blue eyes, radiating with unworldly energy.

He opens his mouth, but no sound escapes his thin lips.

The boy crumbles to dust, and is gone.

Naruto gazes at the empty spot as if he can still gague the outlines of where the boy once stood. He wonders if there is a meaning in this -- any of this -- or if it is as empty as the idea of clamoring for power just to say it is _yours_. He laughs at the foolishness of the situation, but the sound that escapes him is bitter and sad.

The dead leaves rustle in a sudden gust, as if these ghosts are in agreement.

Naruto walks the path to the old house with sure, unhurried steps. Power ripples beneath his feet, intoxicating him with the rush, and as it bleeds outwards, the plum and osmanthus bloom for a few fragile moments before falling again into decay.

The ghosts follow him faithfully, though none seek to cross the undrawn border that surrounds him.

As he steps onto the polished cedar porch, there is a sound of tiny bells ringing from somewhere inside the house. Naruto pauses for a moment, his hand inches from the paper-screen door.

_Can you smell him, boy?_ The Nine-Tails' voice is smug inside Naruto's head.

Naruto lifts his face and inhales deeply -- he can smell old blood and death, the decay of summer flowers, and beyond it, the recognizable scent of Itachi: familar, but distorted.

"I smell fear," Naruto murmurs.

_Yes._

Naruto shudders like his skin is trying to roll itself from his bones. Cautiously, he steps inside.

The corpse in the corner (Naruto searches for it immediately) twitches in the dull candlelight and begins to stir. Stiffly, like a broken puppet, it starts to rise, and Naruto watches impassively. It takes a few moments to steady itself on its feet, and lurches forward, almost losing its tenuous balance.

It stares at Naruto with large, pupilless eyes, but makes no move towards him.

The sound of bells is louder, now, and Naruto only waits a moment before moving towards the insistant chime.

_Like an animal in a trap_, Naruto thinks.

_Yes,_ the fox replies. _Just like that. _ Naruto can hear the grin in its voice.

Before him, a shaft of moonlight has broken through the torn paper screen. He pauses there, calm as a monk as the dead gather behind him in the narrow hallway. He breathes in, taking in the scents of death and decay around him, curling his fingers with the innate knowledge that he could tear this house apart, piece by piece.

He smiles, a slow and sleepy baring of teeth.

The door offers resistance when he tries to push it aside. Naruto growls softly and pushes harder, and while it creaks against the runners, it does not open. On the other side of the rice paper, something moves along the threshold, and the ghosts rustle back into the darkness, murmuring.

Naruto crushes the fragile cherrywood frame without a second thought. The shape shrinks back, and he bats away torn paper, staring into the darkened room with wide eyes.

Exposed in the flickering glow of several crimson candles, Itachi lies spread across the tatami in a bloody ANBU uniform, the falcon-head mask covering his face cracked down the middle. Naruto stops completely, fascinated by the scene before him, and the ghosts of the Uchiha clan crowd around Itachi like morning shoppers in a marketplace. At his head, a lone ghost kneels as if in prayer. Though Naruto does not know her name, he knows her face, the way her pale hands contort in death.

As Naruto moves closer, Itachi jerks and the bells chime again with urgency, tiny glittering charms strung along the delicate red rope that binds his limbs. Naruto is close enough that he can see Itachi's black, black eyes through the shimmering, translucent curtain of his mother's hair, and they are wide and glittering with unrestrained terror.

The ghosts are murmuring for blood, a sacrifice.

For an instant, Naruto is seized with the desire to tear out Itachi's throat with his sharp teeth, to feel the rush of hot blood spilling across his tongue. He shakes his head, willing the sensation away, but he can almost taste the coppery tang in the back of his mouth, how good it would feel to have Itachi's life slipping down his throat. He can barely sense the manic grin that curls his lips.

"You will die, here," Naruto says to Itachi in a voice too low for his boy's throat.

Itachi's eyes widen, then narrow sharply as he stares into Naruto's eyes, sky blue gone hate-filled crimson. "Nine-Tails. How did you--"

"You gave me the keys, Uchiha," the fox retorts, the wicked grin spreading until it seems the boy's lips would split wide open. "You opened yourself to me. You were a clan of fools, mongrels drunk on power that was never yours."

Itachi growls and strains at his bonds, the bells jangling furiously against the stress of his motion. "Demon," he snarls, his perfect composure slipping away, "is their death not enough to satisfy you?"

"You still live." The fox says simply, and the grin slides from Naruto's face. "But not for long. I will kill you here, in your own precious illusion, and then I will destroy your pathetic brother. And _him_." The fox bends in Naruto's body, callused fingers giving way to wickedly sharp claws that reach out towards Itachi.

The ghosts of the Uchiha shudder and sway, tightening the circle around them. The Nine-Tails takes a step closer, savoring the reek of fear coming from Itachi -- he shudders, suddenly collapsing to his knees at Itachi's feet, convulsing as he reaches his clawed hand towards Itachi's prone body.

There is a short snapping sound, then an explosion of bells clattering across the tatami as one of his claws shreds a length of rope like cobwebs. Immediately, Itachi pulls his leg back to deliver a brutal kick to the Nine-Tail's shoulder.

It doesn't connect -- with lightning-fast reflexes, one clawed hand catches Itachi's foot in motion -- there's a short, sharp grunt of pain and Itachi stills once more. Shuddering, the fox rises to his knees with Itachi's booted foot still in his tight grasp. Itachi's eyes widen as the fox applies pressure, claws cutting into the soft leather, drawing blood.

The glowing light emanating from Naruto's discolored eyes doesn't suit him at all, Itachi thinks absently. He wonders if he truly will die here. His illusion has turned against him, his ninjutsu has failed him, his strength has failed him, his cursed blood has failed him -- perhaps, he thinks, the clan will truly die out under this monster's hand.

Naruto (the Nine-Tails, Itachi reminds himself) shakes his head furiously, panting with unknown effort. The pressure on his foot lessens, but Itachi considers his options and holds perfectly still, fascinated by the struggle playing out across the vessel's face. For a moment, the evil light in Naruto's eyes dims, and the familiar blue bleeds out like an ink spill. Naruto's fingers convulse, the claws drawing back halfway into sun-worn flesh.

Naruto gasps for air like he is drowning, head down, crawling up Itachi's body like a ladder, leaving a series of shallow, painful gashes in his wake.

Itachi realizes, too late, that the fox is winning. Naruto lifts his head, his eyes once more those of the Nine-Tails, and smiles.

It's a smile of victory, a perverted, corrupted version of Naruto's annoying grin, all razor-sharp teeth and flecks of saliva. Itachi watches the Nine-Tails come, forces himself to clench his teeth and not scream as claws shred his forearms down to the bone, as he tries to think of some way out of this.

The ghosts press around them, tightly, and he feels rather than sees the shimmering figure of his mother pull away. Itachi, through the haze of agony, thinks that he can't blame her. After all, he hadn't been there when--

--with a fluidity of motion unlike anything Itachi thinks possible, the Nine-Tails rears up, a victorious noise pouring itself from Naruto's mouth as the fox begins its downward ascent, teeth bared and claws extended, all in a perfect arc towards the fragile skin of his neck.

He closes his eyes and lifts his chin. He is proud -- a member of the Uchiha clan, still. He will not die asking mercy, not even if it means saving his soul from hell itself.

He is still a shinobi, the one thing the fox can never take from him.

On either side of his face, mere centimeters from his ears, the tatami erupts in a shower of bamboo chunks, scattering debris that bounce off the broken porcelain mask precariously balanced on his face.

Itachi can feel the light pressure of teeth against his neck -- human teeth. Naruto's breath comes in a long, shuddering pulls.

"No," Naruto mutters, raising his head. "No." His blue eyes are glazed and unfocused, and he pulls away from Itachi's throat, only to collapse on top of him.

And then the ghosts are upon them, phantoms wordlessly screaming their rage at being betrayed once again.


	5. Act V

Set to Mercy, by Claire Voyant.

**Wraiths and Strays, Act V**  
(in these ashes we all fall down)

Naruto groans and twists his body awkwardly to his left, his entire body burning like it's on fire. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to shake the awful sensation of nausea and disorientation that hovers inside his skull, unraveling all his senses to near uselessness.

When he opens his eyes, all he can see is a thick horizon of dirty gray. He blinks rapidly, clearing his head enough to get a bearing on his situation.

He lies on his side in the trampled snow of their previous battle, shivering violently beneath a thin layer of early afternoon snowfall. He has no idea how long he has been there, but guesses it could not have been much more than an hour by the position of the sun and the fact that he has not yet frozen to death. He takes a moment to drag himself painfully to his elbows, numb hands useless as his body screams in protest at the sudden movement.

Several feet before him, Itachi is crumpled in the snow, his pale skin tinged an unnatural blue. Startled, Naruto forces himself to his hands and knees, half-dragging himself across the ruined snow towards the Uchiha prodigy. His hands burn as circulation returns to them in tingling bursts, half-afraid that Itachi has frozen to death in his own front yard.

As he edges closer to the unconscious man, he raises his head to study the landscape around him, until now hidden by Itachi's genjutsu. The forest is naturally thick -- bordering on claustrophobic -- around them, save for a wide swath of clear ground that looks as if it might serve as a road in the warmer months. Beyond the line of trees, a few miles down the path: snow, dazzling and brilliant and it feels somehow bigger than all of fire country. There are no mountains to break up the skyline, just a fierce, pristine canvas that stretches out and out to forever.

Trembling, Naruto rises to crawl the last few feet to Itachi. He reaches out, his hand pressing against the older shinobi's cheek. He is cold, yes, but Naruto does not think him dead yet. "Way to go, asshole," he mutters, and his fingers slide to Itachi's throat to test the carotid artery there.

Itachi's pulse is sluggish and irregular, and Naruto curses softly.

There is work to be done, then. With a sigh, he rolls Itachi onto his back, irritated by the knowledge that life would be a lot simpler if he just left the bastard out here to die.

(There had been nothing but hatred to see in those ghosts' empty eyes, but Naruto knows, as sure as the sun will rise, that the expression beneath that crumbling mask will haunt him for the rest of his life. Terror, oh yes, but below that --

-- pain, enough to break a soul. If only for the memory of that, and what came _after_ -- he shudders at the images that stir in his mind, fragments of memory to bind them together in the dubious brotherhood of shadowed, shared traumas. For _this_, Naruto will do everything in his power to ensure Itachi's survival.

This time, at least.)

And there is blood in the snow, streaks of crimson where Itachi's arms have hollowed a place in the powder and Naruto blinks, casting a suspicious eye at the older man. His clothes are untouched; yes, that ominous cloak looks rumpled and wet and nothing more, but when Naruto's fingers brush the ice caked to the wide sleeves, they come away wet with more than just snowmelt.

So many questions form behind those glittering blue eyes, taking shape like jutsu newly discovered; Naruto is already bracing himself for the inevitable silences that will be his answers.

*

An hour later, color has begun a slow return to Itachi's flesh. Naruto sighs in relief and stirs the fire once more, unwilling to take his eyes from the Uchiha for more than a few moments at a time. He is all-too aware of the way even a strong life can slip away between heartbeats. Every blanket from the run-down manor is currently stretched across Itachi's prone body, giving the impression of a child buried to the neck in a great pile of blue-white-grey-crimson-eggshell sand. His own hands are just beginning to find real warmth again as well, and his concern for Itachi is almost enough distract him from the terrible burn of nerves coming out of hibernation.

Something happened that _shouldn't_ have. This much, Naruto understands. He may not have the faintest idea as to the workings of illusions or their counters, but he's fairly certain Itachi shouldn't have rope burns on his wrists, or long jagged gashes along his arms, beneath the sloppy bandages Naruto has wrapped them in. He should never have seen the long, bird-thin bones beneath that shredded flap of flesh atop Itachi's left foot.

He should never have seen the things that really haunted the older shinobi.

Naruto could leave now; there is nothing to stop him. Perhaps Itachi will not live through the morning, even with Naruto's amateur but well-intended care. He does not know the area, but he is robust and there will surely be a village somewhere close, right? Surely Konoha and her allies are looking for him now.

Even as he considers his options, he knows he will not leave Itachi's side. Not now, not after this, not after--

"Come on, dammit," he growls, and rests his hand atop Itachi's cool forehead once more. "Wake up."

If Itachi hears him, Naruto cannot tell.

Itachi will wake up.

He _has_ to.

*

The next two days are unspeakably lonely, as far as Naruto is concerned. He spends his time talking to the sleeping ninja, weaving marvelous stories of the things he's seen, the battles he's fought that Itachi likely knows all about but did not _witness_. When it gets dark, Naruto moves closer, stirring the fire as he talks about Sasuke. Important things, trivial things, the way he left him hog-tied once in an attic and tried to steal the girl that loved him on lunch hour -- all these things and more, as if he's trying to press upon the unconscious man all the things he's missed. As if he can replace all those memories with something ... different. Something better, certainly.

Sometimes, when his voice is exhausted and there is no meal to make (he has taken to cooking for two in the stubborn hope that Itachi will wake up soon) or bandages to tend, he wanders the house and wonders where Itachi keeps his _stuff_. Because though is _his_ house and so many things about it make more sense now, there is nothing within its crumbling walls that describes its owner.

He comes back to those dead, crumbling flowers with every revolution he makes.

Perhaps this is all he needs to know.

The next morning, Itachi opens his eyes to see Naruto leaning over him, a length of white binding wrapped 'round his fist.

"It's about time," Naruto says, and sounds like he means it.


End file.
